Of Love, Dreams, Birthdays, Etcetera
by lindencovenant
Summary: The days leading to Daniel Gregg's birthday bring surprises of all kinds. Day On Universe.


**Of Love, Dreams, Birthdays, Etcetera**

_**Author's Note: Firstly, thanks go out to God for any modicum of talent that makes this readable, to Mary for being a fantastic editor/writing partner, and to you, the readers. Second, all characters who appeared on the television show belong to Fox and to R.A. Dick; all Day On characters are Mary's and mine. **_

**Wednesday, April 6, 1983**

Not for the first time in the last fifteen years, Carolyn Muir-Gregg wondered what to get the man she loved for his birthday. Though it was no longer true that he had nothing, he still _needed_ nothing, really, and had few material wants. Oh, she knew that the combination party for him, Tristan, Isolde, Molly, and Blackie had been supposed to be the sum total of the celebration, but that did not rest well on her mind.

Finally, blowing a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes, she decided to try and think about something else and see if a brilliant, or at least good, even half-good, idea would strike her if she let the problem believe it no longer had her full attention. She turned her focus to something that was less difficult. Tristan's sister, Isolde, who as it happened was Carolyn's cousin/foster daughter, Jenny's, great-great-grandmother, had noted that the young woman had very few photos of her father as an adult and wondered why. The answer was simple; Jack Williams had been a bit protective of his camera equipment and had not wanted anyone else fiddling with it. Besides, after all, _someone _had to hold the contraption to take the pictures. Still, the lack bothered Jenny, now that it had been pointed out, and she had asked Carolyn if she had any snapshots of the man.

_No time like the present,_ Carolyn thought as she went into the back of her closet to retrieve her older photograph albums, the ones covering her teen years to early in her first marriage. There were bound to be a few of her cousin Jack in there. Confident that she would easily find what she needed, she gathered the books and went downstairs where she fixed herself a cup of coffee and settled into a chair to look.

An hour or so later, the Captain popped into the room. "I think Barnaby is worried that I might be mourning the second loss of my aunt. He's found a hundred things to suggest I do on the paper today." Garnering no response, he amended, "Perhaps not _quite_ that many, but he kept me hopping, in a very soft-spoken fashion."

Carolyn looked up, blinking. "Sorry, darling. I got absorbed in memories."

"So, I am not the only one prone to nostalgia today?" the seaman's spirit winked. "Empty nest feelings prompted you to look at pictures of Candy and Jonathan when they were at a more manageable age?"

"I haven't gotten that far yet," Carolyn replied. "Besides, they've never given me any major problems, really. Well, one or two, but those were short-lived."

With an amused smile, Daniel popped over to stand behind her chair. He kissed the top of her head as he leaned over to peer at the open book on her lap.

Abruptly, thunder crackled and the sunny day turned into a downpour.

Startled, Carolyn twisted around to look up at her husband in shock. "Daniel? What is wrong?" _He hadn't gotten that angry in ages, not at her. _

"What in Heaven's name are you doing running around NAKED?" he demanded, one finger stabbing the page in an accusatory fashion.

Confused, Carolyn turned back to look at the offending photo. It took a moment for her to comprehend, she was so very shocked by his behavior, but when the image connected with her brain, she laughed. "Daniel, I was fully covered! Everything important anyway!" She gaped at him. "I haven't heard you criticize my mode of dress in years!"

"You have not answered my question, Madam," he snapped.

"And I _will_ not if you are going to take that unreasonable tone! That photo was taken long before I met you, before I had met Bobby, even!"

"Nonetheless, what possessed you to parade yourself like that?" he persisted. "In - feathers, spangles, and beads with your legs showing!"

For a second or two, she experienced _deja vu _as it seemed like they had stepped back to the days of misunderstandings and conflicts about the modern world vs. Victorian morality. Then, she counted to ten and forced her voice to be calm. "If you will just listen, I will tell you. I needed money-"

"So you - ?!"

"I _said_ listen. Please. It was all innocent, I promise." Her green eyes begged him to be quiet and pay attention. "I wanted to buy my parents a special twentieth anniversary gift and was fifteen dollars short with no time to get the rest of the funds, unless I wanted it to be belated. I didn't. I was over at Aunt Thelma's and re-counting my money to try and see if the shortage would somehow disappear. Maybe I had mis-figured. Jack came in, saw me, and asked what was going on. So, I told him and he had an idea. He had worked up a magic act for a talent contest, but he needed an assistant and didn't want to ask his girlfriend, Laura, to do it, because he thought she was too beautiful in ordinary clothes. If she wore something like that, he'd have to beat men off with his wand. I was _just_ his cousin and nowhere _near_ as pretty, in his opinion. I'd be safe."

"Needed glasses, did he?" Daniel growled.

"Thank you, sweetheart. Anyway, the prize was fifty dollars, and he'd split it with me if he won, and even if he didn't, he would pay me fifteen dollars. He wouldn't even make me sign his name on the card with mine. I agreed, and we won second place, so I got the fifteen dollars, and half the two months' supply of soda that a sponsor furnished for second prize." She made a face. "It was a budget brand that tasted awful." Daniel's face continued to look stormy. "Nothing shameful happened, darling," Carolyn tried to reassure him. "I was probably on stage for no more than fifteen or twenty minutes and my main concern was that I was freezing."

"You look rather happy in that photo," Daniel pointed out, not quite ready to concede.

"It's a reflex. You have a camera pointed at you and you know you're supposed to grin, these days anyway. I have noticed that most people in pictures from your era look very unhappy about being photographed." She cocked her head. "Of course, if you _had_ smiled in the picture Matthew Brady took, I never could have convinced the admiral that anyone was scared by your face. Not even a chicken crow."

Finally, a small smile crept over Daniel's face. "Perhaps I can overlook the fact that my wife ran around in her skivvies, albeit for a good cause, before I met her. You did not have to do a repeat performance?"

Carolyn shook her head. "I wouldn't have. Like I said, I almost froze in the air-conditioned school auditorium. Besides, I got enough money to buy the clock I wanted for my parents and have a little plaque engraved to put on the front of it."

Daniel nodded briskly. "Good."

"But, maybe you had better not see any of the pictures from our trips to the lake. I was in a bathing suit. No feathers or spangles. I might have had a bead necklace on..."

Before she could bait him further, the ghost bent over and kissed her. "I believe it is time for our fight to end so we can make up, don't you?" She felt his face move into a smile. "If we must argue, at least a dispute over your beauty is something worth fighting about."

"I thought it was about my lack of modesty?"

"Let's have just one dispute at a time, my dear. I would rather concentrate on making up. It is more fun than bandying semantics."

With a small grin, she assented.

XXX

Some time later, Carolyn asked, "So, how did your work at the _Beacon _go today?"

The Captain shook his head. "We need to persuade Jessamyn to take her maternity leave SOON, so that her dear cousin will have to begin his work substituting for her and stop driving his news staff insane. I believe the charm of being on sabbatical has worn off for Barnaby and he is going, as the children say, stir-crazy."

"Oh dear."

"Of course, part of this is Blackwood's fault," Daniel continued.

"Blackie's?" Carolyn's brows lifted.

Scratching his ear, the ghost nodded, "Yes, my dear, _Blackie. _Instead of following the Golden Rule and keeping Barnaby occupied, he suggested that the professor might like to stop in and 'help' us out at the news office. He need not think I'm fooled for one second; he just wanted time to work on his sermon without any 'assistance'."

"And Sig is driving Adam up a wall at home. Maybe we could find a project for the two of them to work on together?" Carolyn suggested.

"My darling, you are brilliant!" Daniel beamed. "What sort of endeavor did you have in mind?"

"I hadn't gotten that far," she had to admit, breaking off when the phone shrilled.

"I'll get it," the ghost sighed, popping over to the stand upon which the device rested. "Hello?"

A second later, he put the receiver down. "They must have had a wrong number, not to mention no training in etiquette. They should have at least said something like 'sorry, wrong number.' Perhaps even apologized for disturbing us."

"Or it's some kid who gets their jollies ringing and hanging up," Carolyn shrugged. "There was a call like that while you were gone."

"Blast," Daniel frowned.

"Don't look like that; kids do idiot things of that sort and think it's fun because they know they've managed to annoy someone. Jack used to like to call the drugstore and ask if they had Prince Albert in a can. Of course, they did, so he would say, 'well, let him out before he suffocates!' then hang up and giggle like a maniac." She rolled her eyes. "And, we both remember Tristan's penchant for answering the phone in odd voices. But, I do NOT think that was him."

"It had best not be," Daniel replied in a grim voice as he bent to absently pat Dakota, who had roused herself to see if her "papa" had any treats for her or would at least pet her. "See, I have always maintained that contraption is a blasted troublesome invention. This proves it." Considerably cheered, the spirit grinned smugly.

Carolyn opened her mouth to argue, citing an interesting, in a good way, call she had received from Adam Pierce while he was out, but then shut her mouth. Tempting as it was, the information the lawyer had given her might just be what she needed to solve her earlier problem.

"You wanted to say something, Madam?" Daniel challenged, having noticed how close she had come to speaking.

"You must admit," she bluffed, "that for communicating with people to whom we can't send a ghost, or when one of you guys isn't nearby, having a phone is useful. Besides, I wouldn't want you, Sean, Dash, Tris, and company to think that we mortals considered you just a handy messenger service."

One brow lifted. He knew that tone. She was keeping a secret. "We are quite glad to be of service, my dear." However, he did not try to get the truth from his wife. Daniel knew that his birthday was at hand, and no matter what had been said earlier, he was also cognizant of the fact that she would do something for him on the proper day. He could have a dozen celebrations before or after April eighth, but the fact remained that Carolyn would make sure his real natal day was commemorated.

"Did we just have another argument? I'd hate to miss a chance to make up," Carolyn remarked, a twinkle in her eye.

"Yes, that would be most unfortunate," the Captain agreed, smiling slowly.

XXX

Adam Pierce frowned in concentration as he studied some documents a client had sent him to review and advise on whether or not they should be signed. It was a simple contract, almost not worth the time it took to read. He was, in a word, bored. The lawyer rubbed his eyes, then his ears perked up as he heard voices in the outer office.

"Go on in. He could probably use a break."

Literally a second later, a young man appeared in front of Adam's desk. "Hullo."

"You know," Adam mused, "I have heard that there is a sound that occurs when knuckles encounter wood, such as is found on, or even near, a door, and it is called a knock. People all over the world regularly practice making the noise. I don't suppose you'd be interested in participating in this custom?"

"I knew that you could hear Candy tell me to come in; said wood on said door is quite thin, therefore, saw no point," Tristan Matthews countered. "Now, you tell me, why are there shadows under Candy's eyes?" All lightness left his tone.

"Good question. I noticed them when I picked her up for work, and asked if she was okay, but she maintains that she is. She has seemed rather - fuzzy today." Adam's brow furrowed. _Perhaps he should have pushed?_

"Aren't lawyers supposed to be good at getting information out of people?" Tristan demanded. "Besides, she's not just "people," she's - "

"I _am_ aware of the fact that she's been a friend and like family before she really was family," Adam said wearily. "HOWEVER, I am not in the habit of forcing confidences from people who rate that highly with me. I am worried, but I can hardly put her on the stand, now can I? What are you here to harass me about?" he finished in an acid tone.

"Well, er, I discovered that I _do_ have a middle name; Sig just never told me about it. We didn't have birth certificates, you know, back then. And it was fairly awful, so my brother chose to be kind and let me think my full name was merely Tristan Matthews. But, does that change what my paperwork should say?"

"Only if you want to use the name," Adam shrugged. "Do you?"

"Not in a million years. I can't even _pronounce_ it unless I get drunk, and do you know how hard it is for a ghost to do that? Nigh on impossible."

"I can honestly say I have never tried to figure out how drunk a spook could get," Adam said. "Now, is that all?"

"I was wondering if I can pay you off in installments? For making me legal," Tris added.

"Of course. I'll waive one payment in exchange for a tune-up and oil change on my jeep, and two if you find out what's up with Candy." Adam shrugged. "So, I'm a control nut and want to know everything is peaceful in my little world. If she's upset about something, it will impact her work, and probably cause negative ripples in the family, possibly upsetting my wife who is pregnant with my firstborn, and I'm nosy."

"At least you did not enumerate the reasons," Tris quipped, then popped back out to the front office. If the whole truth was told, he _might_ have sensed that the young woman out there was upset and that been the main reason he had popped over. He was grateful to Adam for not probing deeply. _Maybe he rated highly with the lawyer, too?_

"Got everything settled?" Candy Muir Avery asked, squelching a yawn.

"Sort of, yeah," Tristan nodded. "Except, to be blunt, I am worried about you, dear girl, and I refuse to leave until you tell me what's kept you from sleeping." His eyes bored into hers. She glared back at him, but he did not flinch. "I can harass you quite efficiently, AS you know, so you might as well give in."

Rolling her eyes, Candy asked, "Did Adam put you up to this?"

"Yes, but I noticed. He just seconded the motion, in a manner of speaking. Besides, I needed his permission to pester you at work, on _his_ time. C'mon, 'fess up. Whatever it is can be fixed." He was not sure _how_, but that was just a detail.

"Fine. We might as well go into Adam's office. It's nothing major, but he'll just get it out of you later," she shook her head.

"It's only because we care."

Candy paused to give him a look before knocking on the door and entering her boss' office. "See? Knocking. Try it," Adam said. "It doesn't hurt. You might even enjoy it."

"Tris says you both want to know why I'm out of it." Candy was nothing if not direct.

"That would be correct."

"I've had weird dreams the last couple of nights," Candy admitted, dropping into a chair. "Feels like I work more while I'm asleep than awake."

"All things considered, I do not see how that is possible," Adam obliquely complimented her.

"Thanks, but still."

"What happens?" Tris asked.

"It started out with Mom standing by a bus stop. She said she wanted to leave Peyton Place. Then, Captain Dad and Claymore came along and announced that they're headed to Broadway. After that, Jonathan breezed by in some kind of floating car, claiming that he was going to become a knight. And Thom called me a witch and said he's going to start selling cosmetics to dogs and cats. In five minutes, I lose my immediate family." She let out a small sigh.

"Bet it's not fun trying to put lipstick on Dakota. Tell me I showed up and punched the daft idiot out," Tristan said, shaking his head. _Cosmetics for pets? And calling Candy a witch?_ _What a prince!_

"No. Your story got complicated. First off, the Doctor and Rose landed. Siegfried charged out and announced that he was the Prime Minister and the Doctor had been impersonating Casanova, so he ordered Bree and Jess, who were cops, to imprison him. Rose ran off to start a singing career. The TARDIS got lonely, so you, Tris, and Bree's friend, Jason, decided one of you should be the Doctor. You settled on taking turns being him." She frowned. "Then, I woke up, but when I got back to sleep, at last, it just started up again. Lynne and Molly decided to go into politics and become senators. Lynne's hair was seriously weird."

"Where was I? Where were their husbands?" Adam asked.

"Uncle Sean had taken off to run a lumber company on a mountain, and Uncle Dash had a hard time deciding what to do. He thought about being President, to be near his wife's job, but then he decided to try being a cop, on account of his grandchild being one. Then, he tried being a smuggler for a while. He hated feeling like a fugitive. But, we have to talk about Fontenot first. Adam, you and one of Bree's other ghosts, Paul, started fighting with swords. You told him that there could be only one of you, but Fontenot made you break it up because he hadn't taught either of you how to be whatever you were. And, Paul had a hard time counting to one. Took like five tries. Then, Fontenot wandered off to settle a fight between Blackie and Dave, over who could be Robin Hood. _He_ wanted to be Robin Hood, too. And Isolde said she was going to be Marian. But, Fontenot got bored with that, or Sherwood got too crowded, so he decided to become an archeologist, and Uncle Dash took off with him to find the Holy Grail."

She paused to yawn. "Then, it started over again last night. Barnaby and Amos went to Hawaii and started solving mysteries, with Simon tagging along, telling them how to do it. Jim considered helping, if they'd pay him two hundred a day and give him an expense account, but he also thought about being President, or an astronaut. I think he settled on being a gambler. Bronwyn announced she was opening a cosmetics company... For people. Jenny was lost in a maze. That girl who came home with Jon, back when Thom got hurt? Beth... went past on ice skates and said something about killing vampires."

"What happened to Bree's other ghosts?" Adam asked. His poker face was being severely challenged, but he didn't want to laugh at her.

"Matthew became a singer in Austria, and I'm not sure about the girl ghosts. Seems like they wanted to go with Jason and Tris," Candy shook her head. "Maybe I'll find out tonight. Almost forgot, Jess did say she thought about being a model, but had rather be a cop. Oh, and Michael, the guy who picked up Devon, decided to just give up crime fighting and be a beach bum. And Martha enlisted in the military. Uncle Ed opened a bar, after he took away one of Dakota's kittens, Tribble, to be his mascot. Adam, your Mom took over the paper and your dad started singing the blues in Uncle Ed's bar. Blackie's Mom started solving mysteries, too. She was carrying around a little dog while she did that. His dad opened a hotel. Oh, and Aunt Violet had four daughters. I didn't see them, just knew she had them."

There was silence, and then Adam concluded, "Candy, you are every bit as creative as your mother."

"Thanks, but I'd settle for a good night's sleep. Three hours is NOT enough."

Tris debated a moment, and then offered, "If it keeps up, let one of us ghosts know. And, if you start dreaming a sequel, tell those twits that if I get the TARDIS, they can't come along."

"You can keep me FROM dreaming?"

Sticking his hands in his pockets, Tris shrugged. "Never have tried to _prevent _a dream, but we know your dad managed to create a couple in the past. If nothing else, you could be given a controlled one."

She nodded slowly.

"Better question is; has anything upset you to prompt such flights of fantasy?" Adam leaned forward.

Candy frowned, considering, then moved her head in denial. "Nope. I mean, yeah, I was sad to see Aunt Violet and Isolde go, but knowing WHERE they were going — can't get really UPSET about that."

Adam leaned back again, pondering.

"Now, I really need to get back to work. I think my boss would like me to get _something_ done today," Candy winked, and then made her exit.

"Yes, I hear he's an absolute slave driver," Adam called. He glared at the paperwork. "Or was that slave?" As the door closed, the two men looked at each other. "Only natural she'd be getting some angst from seeing people return from beyond, then return_ to _beyond," Adam suggested. "Surprised I haven't had a few oddball dreams, over the years, really." To be completely honest, he had worried over the last few months that with Jess being pregnant, Candy might get depressed because she could not have a baby, but wanted to be a mother.

"I hope that wasn't a sideways insult?" Tris remarked, rocking on his heels. "So, what's Junior's name today?"

"Well, if you'd tell me your middle name, that might be a candidate? No. Ah, well, had to ask. Syneche or perhaps Myrdian. The latter being the Welsh version of - "

"Merlin. Yes, I know. I'm getting you a baby book of popular, contemporary monikers, Adam. You need better ideas. Both of those are right up there with - being an Avon lady to puppies," Tristan declared before vanishing.

**Wednesday Evening**

"So, are you going to take the pictures you found of Jack to Jenny at this evening's Bible study?" Daniel asked, then broke off with a frown. "Did you forget about the class?" His eyes swept over his wife's figure. Though she was not slovenly dressed, she was too casually attired to go out, especially to church.

Carolyn shook her head. "I meant to tell you, but we got - distracted. Blackie had to cancel the study on the Basics of Reformed Theology, at least for tonight. The exterminator came a day early for the annual treatment, and the fumes would not be conducive to holy thoughts. No one who can breathe should go inside until sometime tomorrow when they've cleared out. He spent the afternoon calling people."

"Barnaby should have helped him," Daniel remarked. "So, we are home for the evening?"

"Unless you _want_ to go somewhere." Carolyn lifted one brow.

"Not at all, my dear."

XXX

In the early evening twilight, Blackie O'Ryan sat hunched in his car, going over sermon notes in the church parking lot. He had been able to pretty much everyone on the list that had signed up for the class that had been rescheduled, but there were always a few who would come in without having gotten on the roster. While that was usually welcome, tonight it would be a hassle. Therefore, out of a sense of duty, he was waiting for any stragglers who might not have heard to show up so he could tell them to go home, politely, of course. True, he could have just put up a sign, but when he had decided to stake out the parking lot, it had seemed like the best idea.

At five minutes before the start was supposed to take place, he had just about decided that he'd gone overboard in his zeal and should just go home. Obviously, everyone had heard and was staying home or going elsewhere tonight. If he wanted to be melancholy, Blackie supposed he could figure no one would have attended in any event. Of course, Presbyterians were notoriously tardy... his flock, at least.

His aimless thoughts were shattered by a knock on his window.

"Get locked out of your own church?" Bree Montgomery asked.

Rolling down the window, he grinned. "No, just avoiding poison and trying to steer others away from it."

"What's Jane up to now?" the young woman replied, not missing a beat.

With a laugh that he probably should have suppressed, Blackie shook his head. "Nothing. I mean literal noxious fumes, the kind that keeps creepy-crawlies from doing their thing in my church. Exterminator had a cancellation, so they decided to come a day early for the maintenance sweep here. Ergo, breathing is not advisable inside until - oh - three a.m. tomorrow. Seems awfully late, or early, for a Bible study."

"You mean I WALKED all this way for nothing?" Bree blinked.

"You walked a mile?" Blackie gaped. "Good grief, woman. No, it'd be a mile and a half."

"Actually, just half a mile, this time. I came to town to do some research at the library for Uncle Charlie's foundation, and when I got done, decided to just come on over and hope someone might keep me from walking home in the dark."

"We've got to get you used to driving on the right side of the road," Blackie observed.

"I do - it's you Yanks that are on the wrong side," she quipped. "So, why didn't you just move the class to someone's home or the library?"

"It was a last minute thing, and if I had told Harvey's cousin's brother-in-law who does the extermination that he had to come back on the day he was supposed to come to begin with, I probably wouldn't have seen him again for a year. So, here we are. And get in the car, for Pete's sake."

"Charming invitation," she smirked, obeying just the same. As she settled into the passenger seat, Bree wrinkled her nose. "Blast. I was sort of looking forward to this. I've drifted from church to church, you know. Not sure what it means to be Reformed or Presbyterian, but I was anxious to find out."

"Have you eaten?" Blackie asked abruptly.

The girl did a double-take. "Pardon?"

He repeated himself.

"No. Forgot about lunch, actually. Got absorbed in work."

"Wonder you didn't pass out between that and all the exercise. C'mon. I'm driving us to the soda shop. We can share a burger, or something, and I'll hit the high spots of the Five Points of Calvinism, the Five Solas, and whatever else we can get to."

"I was hoping to borrow a Bible in the church..."

"I've got one. We can both look on," Blackie replied easily.

XXX

Forty-five minutes later over a grilled turkey burger and tuna on whole wheat, the pair was engrossed in conversation.

"So, we're puppets, then? Everything is determined?" Bree asked. "I knew that predestination was a Biblical term, Paul used it in Romans and Ephesians, and it's other in other spots, but how is this different than karma and fate?"

"Because we still _do_ make free choices. No one coerces us to choose as we do. We just can't choose right without grace. Our freedom does not make us autonomous, and God's freedom outranks ours," Blackie countered. "Unless God grants us grace, we are slaves to our baser desires. If we are given that, then we can choose to want something better, to desire salvation. As our Lord said, no one CAN come unto Him, unless they have been given TO Him by the Father."

"But, our lives are made up of a zillion facets, and changing one can change everything. So, everything is determined?" Bree persisted.

"To an extent, probably. He does have a plan, after all. There is a paradox and a tension, but you never choose to do anything you do not want to do. Er, rather, you always choose the _most_ desirable or least objectionable option." He sat back. "I'm probably oversimplifying here."

"Almost seems unfair. If we do what we are created to do, then why is anyone at fault for not choosing rightly?"

"Look, was it wrong for — Lord M to be punished for murdering Duncan and Banquo?" Blackie retorted.

"No. He did kill them, but that's in a play. And, you aren't in a theater; you can say the name without lightening striking. Should YOU be superstitious?"

"All analogies and anthromorphisms are imperfect, but Shakespeare's characters were made to act as they were intended to do, yet reaped the reward or punishment of those actions. We just don't know the script and are thus free to act it out without being forced to. Moreover, God has a_ vastly _superior handle on His creations than even the best author does on theirs. They, that is we, never surprise Him. As to the other, I was merely be respectful of any possible superstitions you might carry."

Bree frowned. "Thanks for that, but not needed. As to the main topic, you're making my head hurt."

"Pre-destiny does that to most people. To all honest ones who think about it long."

"Okay, let's back up. You say we always act according to our desires. But I disagree. Let's say..." Bree looked around and dropped her voice. "...Miss Hisslepickle marches up and kisses Tris in the middle of the street. He _certainly_ didn't want to kiss her."

"True, but then we would have the larger worry of how to deal with covering up his abrupt disappearance. My suggestion will be to use your free will to avoid Adam while he's having a melt down over that," Blackie whispered back, scooting a little closer in the booth so that she could hear better and so no one could eavesdrop.

"What if it's _you_ instead of the young-old scamp?" she challenged. "You don't have all his options of escape."

"Point one, she would be kissing ME, not the reverse. My reaction would still be free. I would have the option to return it; something that would NOT happen, politely disengage and tell her in a civil way to forget it, or freak out and shove her away. Option B is the most - " Blackie explained.

Whatever he was about to conclude was cut short when Bree closed the space between them and laid a kiss on his lips.

The pastor did not exercise either of the second two choices he had been listing.

When the Englishwoman sat back to regard him, she wore a satisfied look. "So, how did _that _relate to your free will?"

"I'd say it was predestined and proof that God loves me and wants me to be happy," Blackie winked.

"I thought that was beer, according to your Ben Franklin?"

"I never really acquired a taste for the stuff, and I'd prefer you in any case. At no time was my freedom violated, but you'll surely understand if I return the favor?"

After a second, chaste, but intense kiss, Bree discovered that she was having a very hard time concentrating on theology. "Of course, you realize that we'll be the talk of the town after this," she remarked.

The young pastor grimaced ruefully. "Yeah. I'll be lucky if 'Uncle' Charlie isn't waiting on my doorstep demanding answers about my intentions."

"If he does, tell him that I'll double his paperwork should he make trouble," Bree sniffed.

"Oh, he won't. He'll just start planning a wedding," Blackie winked.

"So, I'll triple the paperwork."

"Am I that objectionable?" Blackie demanded, glancing down his shirt to make sure he hadn't spilled anything on it or that he looked in any way weird.

Bree laughed. "I hardly think we've known each other long enough for my dear - 'uncle' to try that. If we had, then I could answer you better. Based on present knowledge, not objectionable at all. Just not sure I'm ready to marry, period."

"Oh, we haven't known each other long enough for an engagement, I agree. We _have_ known each other long enough for HIM to meddle. Trust me. We had known each other long enough several weeks ago for him to start thinking. If he and Carolyn both get the bug, we might as well elope. Only problem with that being, Mom would kill us. After Aunt Lynne pulled that, I was warned to not even _think _about such a thing. On pain of worse than death, even though I was not even considering dating anyone."

"And my dad, since the bride's family pays for a wedding, might offer us a reward of some sort to elope," Bree smirked. "After all, he does have my sisters' weddings to finance or has financed, as the case may be." She started to pick up her sandwich. "It got cold. Yech."

"I think we completely wasted the price of a meal," Blackie sighed, glancing at the unappetizing, barely touched, soggy tuna. "Too bad one of us doesn't have a dog. Of course, I do like Dakota and B.J., so that really wouldn't be kind to them."

Bree shrugged. "That's the way the mop flops. At least the food's cheap here."

"True. Ready?"

"Yeah."

Blackie signaled for the waitress to bring their check, then insisted on picking up both their tabs over Bree's objections, and they left without noticing her grandfather, the spirit of Charles Dashire sitting at the counter, watching them keenly as he waited to pick up an order to go.

As soon as the bag of food was handed to him and he had paid, the spirit hastened out the door, barely restraining his impulse to simply pop home. He merely kept a sharp eye out for someplace where he could duck in and do so from. Unfortunately, the streets of Schooner Bay were busy that evening, and he had to walk the entire way home.

"Did they have to go out and catch the swordfish before they could grill it for me?" Lynne asked as he entered. "Or wait for the cow to give the milk to make that shake you were craving?"

"Oh, the cooks were prompt. I just couldn't use my blasted powers without getting caught," the ghost grumbled. "I had to walk _three whole blocks. _This only happens when I have good news. If it were something I didn't want to tell you, everyone would have been inside watching whatever it is that's on television." He set the bag onto the table, frowning in disgust.

The doctor came over to wrap her arms around him. "Thank you for not making me attempt to cook tonight, darling. Now, what's your wonderful news?"

The reminder cheered Dash considerably. "Right. My dear, it appears we will shortly have another wedding in the family, judging by what I saw."

"Sig and Bron are FINALLY getting off their high horses and doing something about what's between them?" she guessed.

"No, sorry to say. I saw your nephew and my granddaughter kissing in the diner." He grinned down at her, then, not to let the younger set get ahead of him, leaned over to demonstrate on her.

She allowed it for a minute, then pulled back. "I think, love, that a first kiss is a long way from a wedding. Took us months to get from that one on the doorstep to eloping. And we fought it every step of the way, as I recall."

"Ah, but we had nearly cosmic angst and issues regarding our long lost loves, etcetera and so on in our way. They are not so hampered," Dash beamed. "Besides, the fighting was half the fun."

Lynne thought of something that made her frown. "Your - tone- implies that they did not see you. How is that possible, given Blackie's - ghost radar?"

Dash shrugged. "Could be any number of things, I suppose. I WAS solid; perhaps that scrambles it? Or, perhaps he's so used to sensing us that he is less sensitive than he once was. Maybe, he was just too absorbed in other matters?" His eyes sparkled with delight.

"Charlie," Lynne warned. "Behave. Don't go pushing them. If they're meant to be, they'll manage on their own."

Her husband looked crestfallen and aghast all at once. "Lynne, darling, I only want this for their own good, and I do _so_ want to help. Why, it's the most perfect match either of them could find. The entire family has adored Blackie for ages, so it stands to reason that any young woman who might be interested in him would face a tough road to approval, even aside from the whole ghost subject. And, Bree comes with her own ghosts and secrets we all want to keep, and I feel rather protective of her, but I have no objection to Blackie. _So, _this is a match made in Heaven."

"Charlie, dear, if you start doing handstands around those two they are going to go running in the opposite direction. Blackie can be incredibly shy, and Bree — even though she_ is _tuned into ghosts and loves it here — is terribly independent. I _really_ don't think you want to back her into a corner. Besides, it has to be because they_ love _each other — not because it is handy — just like with Jess and Adam. She wouldn't agree to marry him until it was clearly not going to be just a convenient marriage."

"But, they _do _love each other! I can sense these things!"

"I didn't know ghosts had ESP. If they do, it will work out without your cheerleading. Look at us. Everyone knew we were right for each other before WE did, but they didn't push... much."

"How do you know the pushing didn't help us?" he challenged smugly.

"Because I do. We figured it out in our own sweet time — and place, like we told everyone when we came back from eloping. It was... just the right moment. And, it was the right moment when we started really not-dating, too."

"But I WANT TO HELP. And, I _never_ do handstands. They are not dignified."

"I was speaking metaphorically. Besides, you can too do a handstand — or could. Tris told me he made a bet with you that you and Daniel couldn't learn it, and he said he lost the bet. But darling, I do mean what I am saying. Just be yourself and don't go overboard, okay?"

"That wasn't me, that was Elroy Applegate."

"Fun-ny." Lynne shuddered a bit, thinking of the hapless ghost's demise.

"Yes, I know my humor is one of my more endearing qualities. Blast it, being married is a great joy. Of _course_ I want two of the loveliest young people I know to share that experience, and if they do it together, that's — happiness squared. Perhaps cubed, even."

"And THAT's beautiful..."

"Am I allowed to say anything? What about just to Blackwood? Just — let him know I approve? Would THAT be so awful?" Dash gave her his most beguiling look.

"Might want to wait until he realizes he has something going that could potentially warrant approval. However, if he wants to date her, I bet whether or not_ anyone _approves will not concern him a lot. Other than the lady in question."

"Blackie might WANT a little approval. He's the type... I know it."

"YOU are looking for excuses." She stabbed one finger into his broad chest.

"I most certainly am not! But... oh, heavens... I _am_ becoming a poodle aren't I? All right. I will bow to your wishes, for the time being, but If I get ANY kind of clue that Blackie is unwilling to pursue a romantic interest in Bree because he fears that we will not think it is positively wonderful, I WILL say something, and you can't stop me."

"Darling, you are not a poodle, more like a Wolfhound, and I can never stop you — not really. You know that. End of discussion?"

"For now... just one more thing..."

"Yes?" She looked up into his eyes.

"_Who_ encouraged you that I might be the fellow that could sweep you off your feet, after all?"

"Who _didn't_ would be a shorter answer, and all the prompts in the world couldn't have persuaded me if I hadn't believed it."

Dash shook his head in wonderment. "Sometimes I still have trouble believing that our friends figured it out before we did... Everyone? Truly?"

"I think the only one that DIDN'T say and or hint something might have been Elroy Applegate. Barnaby almost got pushy!" Lynne renewed her embrace around her husband, leaning closer. "But I thank Carolyn the most..."

"Why?" He rested his chin atop her head.

"I think _that_ could be best discussed when we retire for the evening."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she answered, kissing him quite soundly.

The hands on the nearest clock face began whirling around, moving far more rapidly than time was advancing. "Oh, look how late it's gotten," Dash exclaimed when they pulled apart.

"Then, I suggest retiring, my dear," Lynne grinned.

"I knew you were a wise, perceptive lady."

"Ah, shove the bag in the freezer, or something," she suggested as he took her hand to lead her away. "Oh, heck, pop it over to Dakota. Who cares?"

The bag vanished, she knew or cared not where.

**Thursday, April 7**

When a knock sounded shortly after Bree had showered and fixed herself a cup of coffee to go with her toast, she tensed reflexively. _No, he wouldn't come around THIS early_, she chided herself. Glancing at her breakfast, she concluded that her efforts to consume a whole meal might be doomed, then answered the door.

"Good morning, lass," Sean O'Casey smiled. "I hope I'm not too early."

Searching her mind, Bree gave up and asked, "Er — what for?"

"You mentioned wanting me to go over a catalog with you, so you could order music that sounded like it might have been played in my day at the cotillion?" Sean prompted. "I did come too early in the day. Sorry, Bree. Molly went to the church to tune the piano, and I was at loose ends, so I decided to come on over."

"You are _not _too early. I was just not on the right wavelength," Bree dismissed his words. "I'm the one to apologize. Truly. Come, join me for some coffee. Breakfast? Have you had any, that is?"

"I only take breakfast on days when Molly and I go to Gull Cottage or the doctor's first thing," Sean shrugged. "Not like I need it. Go on if you were going to have some. There's no rush."

He watched as Bree went to her desk and fished out a couple of catalogs then followed her to the sofa beside which was her plate and mug resting on the coffee table.

"You're bad as Carolyn," he shook his head.

"Worse people to be compared to," she argued, handing him the sale book.

After a few minutes, he noticed she was simply breaking the toast and turning it into crumbs, not eating, and barely sipping the coffee.

"If it'd make you feel better, I'll share the meal with you," he frowned.

"Sean, I made a — donkey of myself last night. I'm shocked you haven't heard about it already," she admitted glumly.

"Donkey? Oh." He got it after a second. "What did you do?"

Flushing, Bree ducked her eyes. "Guess you haven't heard, then. Me and my big mouth." She blushed at her choice of the last two words and continued. "I kissed Blackie." She drew her lips together in a tight line, then added, "In public."

"Oh. He didn't enjoy it?" Sean asked.

"I — He did kiss me back, but — I did it first, and we were **_in public_**. In the diner, to be precise. There's no telling who saw us. Only reason it won't be on the front page of the paper is that Barnaby owns it. I've humiliated us both and probably caused him problems at church. The Elders will — excommunicate him." She put her face in her hands.

"Over a kiss? I don't think so, lass. And, pastors are allowed to have romance, long as it's just the one woman at a time and ye don't go too far, if you take my meaning. Besides, I never heard of a protestant church excommunicating anyone. Haven't heard of the Catholics doing it lately, either." He shrugged. "Bout time he kissed someone."

"I started it," she repeated. "That's — not ladylike, I know. It just — I don't even know what came over me. We were talking about predestination and how people were still free, even if things were predestined, and — it just seemed like a good idea to test the theory by — doing that."

"Naturally," Sean smirked. "Did anything else happen?"

"He kissed me back."

"You said that. Was that all?"

"We gave up on dinner and he gave me a lift home."

"No kiss good-night?" Sean probed.

"We were both too... embarrassed, I think," Bree studied the floor. "Didn't even shake hands. I just thanked him and hustled myself inside. And unplugged the phone so that if all the town gossips wanted to call and yell and me, they couldn't."

"Would it comfort you at all to know that Molly initiated our first kiss? Granted, I was twelve at the time. I had bought her some hard candies for her birthday and to say thank you, she stood on tip-toe and, well, was aiming for my cheek, but missed and got my lips. I didn't mind at all." He reached over and ruffled her hair. Bree looked so like a little girl sulking at that moment that he couldn't help it. "Hey, at least he didn't act like that hellion Lucy on the cartoon and start yelling about germs."

"I'd have had to slap him if he had," Bree laughed.

"There, you see? Things are looking better. Lass, he's a good man, and I think you're a good woman. If something comes of this, what does it matter who started it? And, as to gossip, well, our family's given the old biddies enough to talk about over the years. One more incident won't kill anyone, who is killable, that is."

Bree sighed. "Maybe all that's true enough, but, Sean... That was the second time I've pulled something like that on him! The poor guy probably thinks I'm — Jezebel."

"Second time?"

"I kissed him on the cheek on Valentine's Day. And, Penny is probably right, much as I loathe saying that. I have been — taking advantage of Blackie."

Sean had to work not to laugh at her. Getting himself under control, he said, "Bree, you have not been remotely a Jezebel. Thom doesn't even get flustered if Candy kisses Tris on the cheek, which I think she did on Valentine's Day. Valentine's kisses or mistletoe ones don't get demerits. They're more about sentiment than romance. The other kiss, you said he returned it, so I don't think he's upset about the whole idea. And, if you think those two acts make you into a wanton woman, then lass, you've got a lot to learn about being one, so I know you did naught to warrant being called that. As to Penelope... No one pays a whit of attention to that prissy miss. She's just — being nasty because she fancies him herself. And doesn't have a prayer."

"Blackie's nice. He wouldn't tell me if I was—" Bree began.

"Oh, hush up, girl," Sean chided. "He'd find a way to discourage you if any of your fears were valid. Now, then, let's get to work here."

"Right."

XXX

As Blackie entered the church, only a faint smell of insecticide lingered. He made a face, then followed the sound of the piano to the sanctuary. "Molly," he called out. "Doesn't this odor bug you? No pun intended, but it's a good one, I must admit."

The redhead turned to face him. "Nice thing about being a ghost, lad. I can choose to not breathe or smell."

The pastor's brows shot up; he was impressed. "Nice trick. How goes it?"

"I'm just about done. I got started about fifty minutes ago," Molly beamed. "This is a truly fine instrument. 'Tis a nice change; usually church pianos are not so great. It's the organs that are the better kept instrument, in the congregations I have known." She cocked her head. "Something's troubling you. Let me get done and then tell me."

He nodded, then listened to the cacophony of sounds the tuning produced. Finally, Molly ran through a simple melody. "All set."

He decided not to mention that he couldn't tell much difference from the last time it had been played. It had sounded good last Sunday; it sounded good this morning.

"Now, what is troubling ye?" Molly inquired, giving him a look best described as a "mothering" one. It was a shame that she had never had a child, Blackie reflected.

"Not a thing—"

"Blackwood, ye're a pastor!"

"Troubling is too strong a word," he allowed. "Let's say, disquieting? Still too much. I should call Carolyn, get a good word for what I feel. Hmm. Well, the thing is, Bree kissed me last night, so I returned the favor, and now I think she's scared. When I took her home, she hurried inside, and I don't know where to go from here. I like her, but I know, I come along with a humungous bundle of — issues. Being a preacher's girlfriend could be uncomfortable. And, if it went farther, triple that." He frowned. "Really, that's not a huge worry; after all, the kiss is a good sign. And, we were having a Bible study, sorta, so she was cognizant of my office. The potentially troubling thing is, we were in the diner, so everyone might hear about it and start talking."

"All that's worth being disquieted over," Molly said. "But, ye're right; the kiss IS a good sign. And, Bree's made of stern enough stuff to handle a relationship with you. If she does care for you, romantically, she'll realize that. As far as rumors go, just live in such a way as to make any sordid ones a lie. The truth will prove itself."

"I can do that," Blackie winked. "So, should I ask her out on a formal date?"

"I think that'd be a grand idea."

XXX

As the lunch hour began at Schooner Bay Junior/Senior High School, Barnaby King joined his cousin, Jess Pierce in the teacher's lounge. Since he was due to take over her classes soon, he thought it would be a good idea to observe one or two and start to get a feel for where her students were and who they were.

Most of the other teachers assembled in the room were engrossed in catching up on their paperwork or chatting with their co-workers, so Jess and Barnaby were able to find a quiet spot to share their meal.

After a while, he asked, "What's wrong, Jess?"

"What makes you think there is something wrong?" she replied, stirring her yogurt absently.

"Your leg is bouncing and your nails look bitten," the professor observed simply. "So, answer my question."

Rolling her eyes, she rhetorically asked, "I guess I have to tell you or get bugged about it? Fine. I'm scared, Barnaby. What if I have waited too long to have a baby? I'll be — ancient when the kid's a teen. And, I might be a rotten mother." She gnawed her lip. "I know. Bit late to be thinking of all this, but I am, so there ya have it."

Barnaby took a sip of coffee, making a face at the poor quality. "First of all, you will not be THAT old when your child is a teen-ager, or you won't be if you don't let yourself be. Age is more a state of mind than body. I've done research on it and can show you the—" He broke off, seeing her expression. "Take my word for it, then. Second of all, your mother was forty... forty-seven when you were born and she lived until you were in college and would still be alive, probably, if she hadn't been allergic to penicillin and had that bad reaction to it. Of course, Blackie would point out that we all have a finite number of days assigned and we never die one second too early or too late, but that does not change the point, much. And, when your time is up, you'll still be dead, even if you don't have the baby, but it's moot. That child is nearly here. What's more, even if you were to die young, he or she would still have Adam, the Mileses..." He winked as he said that name, "...the O'Caseys, Lynne and Dash, Candy and Thom, Sig, Bron, Tris, Blackie, the Farnons, even Claymore, and me as family. As to your fitness as a mother, I see no reason to assume you won't be a good one. You're a good-hearted, clever young lady." He took another tentative sip. "Besides, Adam is a very intelligent man and a good judge of character. He would not marry someone who would be a rotten mother, since marriage does carry with it the potential for children." Barnaby took a sip of soup and added, "I bet Fontenot would take you on as a student. Your — gift — might mean you'd be a candidate for his school."

"Why do you have to be so blasted sensible?" Jess accused. "I can't work up a good fret if you're going to be so logical."

"Sorry."

She grinned. "Now, don't go apologizing for being who you are, which is my favorite cousin."

"I am?" The professor sounded genuinely amazed.

"You're everyone's favorite cousin."

"Not your oldest sister's. I frustrate her."

Jess shrugged and took a bite of salad. "It's good for her."

XXX

Before returning to the Pierce home after his work day managing Lynne's office, Siegfried Matthews stopped at the theater to visit his lady friend, Bronwyn Tegan.

The female ghost looked up as she felt his entrance. "Hullo, Rob. What brings you here?"

"Do I need an excuse to visit?" he growled.

Because she knew he was more than a little depressed at having to say a second good-bye to his sister, she did not bristle, merely shook her head. "Of course not, but you seldom do _anything_ without one."

"The reason is I wanted to see you," he huffed. "Are you working on any plays?"

"We should have the turntable back before long, so Molly and Sean can finally stage _I Do, I Do!_ After that, I'm not sure what. Do you think Tris will be done decorating the nursery soon? I'd like to commandeer him to paint a set or two."

"Who knows?" Siegfried laughed. "The boy insists on keeping the room a secret, and I have a feeling he'd know if I popped in to peek. He'd claim there were ectoplasm prints, or some such hogwash."

"Now, you know your brother would never do anything with HOGwash."

They shared a chuckle.

"Have you heard the latest?" Bronwyn essayed. "It seems Bree and Blackie might be a couple."

"Does something that was so obviously right from the moment she burst in on us qualify as news?" Siegfried retorted.

"Absolutely. People realizing the truth is always worth noting," Bronwyn observed, a half-smile playing on her lips enigmatically.

**April 8**

Thanks to "division of labor," Carolyn was able to go out on an assignment for the _Beacon _and get home long before Daniel was done with the tasks Dave and Barnaby found for him to do. When she reached Gull Cottage, she paused to worry just a little about if her decision was wise, then, steeling her spine, tackled the job with crossed fingers and a prayer.

At five-thirty, the Captain popped into his home. Immediately, he was struck by the scent of homemade rolls baking and beef stew. He thought he could also smell a pound cake, but it was hard to tell around the spiciness of the other. "Carolyn?" he called, stepping carefully amid the cats slinking around his legs.

"In here," she replied from the formal dining room.

Once Dakota roused herself and joined the cats, the ghost gave up on tactfully navigating the obstacle course they presented and simply popped to where he heard his wife.

The room was lit by candles and the huge table's leaves removed to make it suitable for just two people. His favorite meal was set upon it along with a large box. Most importantly, Carolyn was waiting, dressed in a long dress with her hair arranged in a more old worldly style.

"Happy Birthday, Darling."

He tried to frown. "I thought we celebrated it last Monday?"

"The family did, but this is for just us," she smiled, crossing the distance so she could kiss him.

"Now, this is an adequate present in and of itself," he smiled, and Carolyn was delighted to feel that his face had returned to his natural one.

"I think you'll enjoy the rest," she promised.

Reluctantly, he moved away and sat down to the meal. After the first bite, he nodded. "As always, Martha has my gratitude for her talents."

With a smirk, Carolyn replied, "Ah, no, she does not. Not today. I made this entire meal, myself. Aunt Violet gave me a crash course while she was here."

The stunned look on his face reassured Carolyn that he really had not known and was simply being polite.

"Truly?" Daniel asked.

Modestly, she smiled. "Well, I only learned how to make the beef stew, rolls, and the cake, but, yes. And, Sean popped up to Amish country and bought a stick of hand-churned butter for you."

In a flash, he was at her side, kissing her again. "Thank you. I know how you hate to cook, that you did for me is — a treasure."

Clearly delighted, she teased, "And you haven't even opened your other gift."

"I will after I eat. Cold stew is not good. Even Aunt Violet couldn't make good cold stew."

The meal seemed to last forever, finally, he was ready to tear open the package, but seeing how anxious his lady was, Daniel decided to adopt her habit. Very slowly, he began to peel away the paper.

"What happened to "why can't women ever just open a package?" and variations on that theme?" Mrs. Gregg exclaimed.

"Turnabout, my dear, is fair play," he winked.

Long seconds later, the paper was neatly folded and the lid off the box. For a moment, the Captain simply stared at the contents, then he looked up, questions in his eyes.

"When our publisher decided to re-issue your memoirs, I got Adam to negotiate it so that they would be reprinted as being by Carolyn Muir-Miles," she explained. "I would have dropped the Muir, but they felt it would be better for continuity's sake. I must admit, I had help getting your gift ready. Jenny did a fast mock up of the cover and Dave did the printing on the sly. They also got the other cover made, but only you, the family, and I will see that one."

He pulled out second folded paper on which was emblazoned, _Memoirs of a Sea Captain: The Life of Daniel Gregg by Carolyn Gregg._

"My darling..." he broke off, too moved for words. She did not need them; the look in his eyes said it all.

"Happy Birthday, Daniel Gregg." She lifted a glass in a toast. "I give thanks every day that you were born, and that you have existed long enough to be mine."


End file.
